


Salvation

by TheSharpenedPencil



Category: Phantom: The American Musical Sensation - Yeston/Kopit
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-07-19 00:35:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16129919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSharpenedPencil/pseuds/TheSharpenedPencil
Summary: Eliza found Erik, broken with grief, just after Christine flees in terror. He was hurt, and badly. What will become of him?





	1. Hiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza finds a severely wounded Erik, both physically and emotionally. Why, she doesn’t know, but Eliza tries to fix his wounds, invisible or not.

I could hear a gun go off, a man yelling to evacuate the building, and a yelp of anguish and pain. I could hear people calling, over and over,

”The phantom! Look, there he goes, down that hallway! After him!” Cries of triumph. “I’ve hit him!” I stood up from the nook I had sat in to read my book. Moving to the end of a hallway, I saw a masked figure running, or rather staggering as fast as he could, down the hallway. Police men were running down the hall after him. He ducked into a corner where they couldn’t see him, and they lost the figure’s track, searching in the corridors for the disappearing man.

”Monsieur, come here!” I hissed. The man’s head turned, and he saw me. “Before they find you. Quickly, now.” He darted with surprising speed into the hall I was standing in. I took his arm, and started pulling him away from the men when I noticed him bleeding. “You’re hurt," I realized what the police men meant. “You’ve been shot.” The man spoke in an irritable and tired voice.

”I am quite aware.” Grasping his wrist, I tugged him gently. “This way, Monsieur, to the prop room,”

”Why are you doing this? What benefit do you get?” The question confused me. He had been shot, and this was his concern? I had no answer. Perhaps I could stall him until I formed one.

”Later,” I said. “You are the Phantom, are you not?”

”Oui,”

”Where is the nearest passageway?”

”The what?”

”The passageway. You are no real phantom. You must get around somehow. Besides, I’ve seen you appear, as if out of nowhere before. Now, where is it?”

”Across the stage,” he sighed. “Just leave me. There is no hope.” I gave the surroundings a calculating glance.

”There is hope yet, Monsieur. I think I can hide you long enough. Maybe in the costume department.”

”What good is it, anyway?!” He grieved, entirely too loud. “She is gone.”

”Hush now, and instead tell me the nearest tunnels.” He gave me the strangest look, but complied.

”There is one in the costume room, but I thought we were too far away?”

”Just trust me.” I lead him on, toward the  darkest hallway in this part of the opera. The lamps were broken, so no one ever turned them on, lest they cause a fire. It remained largely unexplored by the workers of the opera, for there was nothing of note down that way. We started down it, marching on through several spiderwebs, but finally we reached the end, shrouded in abandoned props and moth eaten costumes for plays that went out of style years ago. I pulled a few old costumes away to reveal a lantern, a few candles, and a box of matches in a basket, along with a book. “Well, Monsieur Fantôme, pull up your shirt. I need to get a look at your wound.” I said, lighting the lantern. He nodded and lifted it up to show the hole, smaller than expected, but still a nasty one. His breathing was labored and shallow. “Can you breath alright?”

”It hurts when I breath in, but I don’t think that it hit my lungs.”

”Perfect. How well do you handle pain?”

”Excusé-moi?” His eyes grew wide. I ripped a piece of leather from a whip, a prop for the slave master in an old show. I folded it several times, and handed it to him. I reached for his mask, but, with surprising speed, he held my wrist with an iron grip. “ _Never_ touch my mask. You will regret it!”

”Again, keep it down! Fine, your mask stays. I’ll need to get some supplies, the costume room is just through here, but you’ll need this for later.” His already pale complexion, coupled with his gushing wound, made him look, after he further paled, like a ghost, coloring him a worryingly light grey. I tore some strips of cloth from a costume and pressed them against his wound. He groaned, and I shushed him, instructed him to hold the fabric there with pressure, and left for the costume room. It was abandoned, fortunately, and I grabbed a basket and filled it with scissors, needles, thread, and a few scraps of fabric. I got back, and sighed. “Put that in your mouth, and brace yourself. This will hurt worse than actually being shot.”

”What are you doing?”

”You don’t need to know. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, as mon père used to say.”


	2. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza finishes patching Erik up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a really super short chapter, but I figured it was alright because there isn’t going to be any waiting for the next one. I’m writing it right now.

One grueling DIY operation later, the man, the Opera Ghost, was nearly unconscious, nauseous and woozy from blood loss, while I was soaked in his blood. Cleaning my hands on a dirty cloth, I put a couple of stitches in the bandage I had wrapped around the Phantom’s midriff. He groaned, and I shushed him, “I know it’s painful, but you need to keep quiet.” I felt like a mother scolding her dis obedient child.

”You do not understand! She was my world, my love and my life! And I’ve driven her away!” I heard murmuring outside in the halls.

”Monsieur! Do you want to be caught or not?!”

”Oh, let them come! It hardly matters anymore! My ang-“ He was cut off as I stuffed a scrap of fabric in his mouth. Quickly shuttering the lantern, I watched people pass in frount of the corridor entrance, one hand over his mouth, but no one payed any heed to our hideout. Once I was absolutely sure the danger had passed, I unshuttered the lantern and removed my hand and the cloth.

”I understand your hurting, emotionally and otherwise, but you really need to stay quiet!”

”I told you, I don’t care! I-“ He was stopped again when I stuffed the cloth back in his mouth.

”Next time I’ll put a gag on you,” I said, giving him a glare. I resumed cleaning myself off. “Besides, I’d let you give yourself up and let them find you, but yours isn’t the only life affected by being found out. What do you think would happen to me if they saw me with you?” He fell silent, but only for a moment.

”You’re right,” I grinned.

”I know,”


	3. Down Once More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza tries to get Erik back down to his home.

A day had passed, and the ghost had healed better and faster than I would have thought, getting stronger by the hour. However, I frequently wished I could sedate him. Although he didn’t speak so loudly anymore, he often got up and walked around when he shouldn’t have soon after his injury. I had to practically hold him down on his makeshift bed of costumes. I had stayed mostly with him through out the past twenty-four hours, leaving only to get food or supplies. “You’re healing very well, monsieur, but you can’t get up yet! You’ll break the stitches!” I whisper shouted to him. He merely grunted. “Lay down!” I hissed, throwing a nasty look at him.

”Fine!” He roared, much, much too loudly. I shuttered the lantern, grabbed him, and practically threw him into the darkest corner.

”You are being too loud. I’ll not only lose my job if I am found out, but possibly my life as well. Do you understand or will I have to leave you?” My tone was harsh, angry even, and rightfully so, but it was also riddled with worry. “Please.” The strange man looked at me. He hadn’t looked at me directly, only glancing at me, but this time he stared at me. “Promise me you’ll stay quiet?” I was surprised at the soft gentleness of my voice, and failed to add any sort of severity behind it.

”I... promise.”

”Thank you.” Suddenly, there were footsteps outside, and my breath hitched. A maid had heard his cry, and had come to investigate, but thankfully, we were well hidden enough to pass unnoticed. Once the danger had passed, I let the Phantom out of the corner and gestured for him to lie down. “You can’t be up and walking like this, Monsieur, or you’ll tear out your stitches. I’ll have to check for any damage done to the suture.” He pulled up his shirt, and I gasped at the blossoming scarlet stain my eyes were met with. Quickly undoing the bandage, I saw that the stitches had been mostly broken, and the skin had been ripped at the strain.

”Is... Is it bad?” I looked up. This was the most effort the man had made towards talking with me.

”I would be lying to say it isn’t. It’s pretty bad. When we try to make it to the costume room tunnel, try not to overly exert yourself or I’ll have to do this all over again. In the mean time, this is going to hurt, so try to distract yourself.”

”How?”

”I don’t know. Think of a poem or something. Here, listen very carefully to my words. Focus only on my words. Here we go.” I began sewing, and recited, “My mother bore me in the southern wild, I am black, but oh, my soul is white,”

”White as an angel is the English child, but I am black as if bereaved of light,” he finished.

“Ah, so you know Blake?”

”To know Blake is to know m- ow!” He yelped as I made a mistake.

”Sorry! Just give me a minute,” I apologized. “Anyway. My mother taught me beneath a tree, and sitting down before the heat of day. She took me on her lap and kissed me, and pointing to the east began to say.” He finished the verse, and I finished repairing his stitches. I wrapped his new suture in a fresh bandage, putting away the needle and thread that I had taken out.

”Do you sing?”

”Do I sing? If you’re asking for a lullaby, I’m afraid I don’t have one for you, if that’s what you want, Monsieur,” I chuckled a bit trying to hide my nerves. Truth be told, I did sing, not formally, but I had had lessons when I was younger. I was extremely bashful about it, though. “What about you?”

”I sing. Well, I hope.”

”Any instruments?”

“The piano, and the violin. And the organ and the cello. The flute. Clarinet. Viola. Oh, and the French horn.”

”Is there an instrument you don’t play?”


End file.
